CHASE 5: BLUE IN BLUE
One more move. If I just squeezed the trigger with my index finger, my objective would be complete.
Standing before Berserga was the sworn enemy I’d pursued -— the Shadow Flare. Standing there, looking utterly defenseless.
–Shoot!
–Shoot it!!
My mind raced ahead. But my fingertips stubbornly refused to move, like a small animal frozen in the gaze of a predator. My body, independent of my mind, was cowering under the vicious, oppressive presence that only the Shadow Flare possessed. It felt like being paralyzed.
This wasn’t fear. I, Kain McDougal, had battled countless times against utterly depraved Votoms pilots. I’d fought many life-or-death battles. And my body had always been loyal to my mind. But not now.
The oppressive force emanating from the Shadow Flare transcended human understanding. Yes, it approached the divine realm — my perception, honed to the utmost within the bounds of reason, screamed this. In response, the seething resentment within me cried out.
He is Sha Bak’s sworn enemy!
I knew that well. If only I could free my stiffened fingertips from his curse, vengeance would be possible. But even mobilizing every waking sense, I found no chance of victory.
A sharp gaze fixed upon Berserga’s humanoid frame, over four meters tall.
Steel arms —
Steel legs —
And it pierced straight through me, trapped inside the cockpit amidst countless instruments, as if to reduce me to dust. The phrase “torture by slow death” flashed through my mind. Yes, that was precisely my situation now.
Chasing the Shadow Flare, I arrived at the layered city of Arg in northern Melkia. In the third-level arena, I took down Oura Nigada, one of the sworn enemies of my late friend. That’s when he appeared -— the Shadow Flare. But I couldn’t move my beloved Berserga an inch.
Moreover, humanoid combat weapons stood watch around us, observing the standoff between my Berserga and the Shadow Flare. Military police A.T.s, wheel dogs. At the Shadow Flare’s command. They could kill me with ease. Whether it would be seconds or minutes from now, I had no way of knowing.
Suddenly, an expressionless yet taut voice came through the communicator. It was unmistakably the pilot of the Shadow Flare. A voice carrying the same oppressive weight as the curse binding me.
“You too, foolish…foolish man.”
Its form swayed slightly. Nothing changed in the image displayed on the monitor. Not the large, dull silver “iron claw” mounted on his left arm, nor the vertical sensor emitting light from its head. And the jet-black machine, twice the size of a Berserga, didn’t move a muscle.
I sensed his presence through the cockpit’s armor plate. It was an aura far beyond mere killing intent. A chill, pure terror, ran down my spine.
I’ll beat you to death! Shadow Flare!
I wanted to scream that. I wanted to pull the trigger. But the scream remained unvoiced. A faint line of light suddenly appeared on the Black A.T.’s chest. It slowly expanded, becoming a band of light. The light from the instruments was spilling out from the black body.
He opened the cockpit.
The audience, who had been shouting from the bowl-shaped auditorium, fell silent all at once. The arena grew deathly quiet. Even for this city’s spectators, seeing the pilot of Shadow Flare directly was likely a first.
The Black A.T.’s cockpit slowly opened, keeping everyone in suspense. Not a single creak sounded. Finally, it pointed skyward.
The pilot stood up. He quietly removed his helmet, and jet-black straight hair swayed softly. The light streaming in from the passageway behind the Shadow Flare meant the pilot’s figure was only visible as a silhouette. But I recognized that face, that build, that aura. It was Chris Kurtz, the man who had brutally shot Sha Bak dead in Coboto city.
He stared intently at me, not moving a muscle. A sigh, heavy enough to envelop the entire arena, escaped from the audience.
Something pulsed sharply at Chris’s shoulder. It was a single wire cord running from the nape of his neck, where his long hair parted, down to the A.T. console panel. No, not just his shoulder. Multiple wire cords stretched from his joints toward the console panel, pulsing like human blood vessels.
In the faint glow of the instruments, his mouth moved slightly.
“The Master will die here.”
I focused my mind on my fingertips. They slipped and came off the trigger. Inside my glove. No, not just my fingertips. My palm, gripping the control stick, was slipping inside my glove.
There was no temperature control in the Berserga’s cockpit. Yet the khaki heat-resistant, pressure-resistant suit enveloping my entire body should never allow a single drop of sweat in any combat situation. But heavy sweat clung to me like a snake. And yet, the core of my body felt freezing cold.
In the monitor, Chris Kurtz gently raised his right arm. The wire cords that continued to swell from his shoulders and the back of his head seemed to have a will of their own, dodging out of the way just before they could entangle him. His hair swayed, revealing a mole at the center of his face. That very mole might be the source of the curse that held me captive. An eerie aura swirled around it.
Chris Kurtz swung his right arm in a sweeping motion. Simultaneously, one of the triple turret lenses on each wheel dog’s head — the infrared sensor — glowed eerily. His fingertip pointed at Berserga. Nearby, the high-pitched whine of A.T. wheels shaving metal echoed. The wheel dogs began closing in rapidly. Twenty of them. Each one clutched an electric shock rod about a meter long.
The will to fight surged. But my body refused to follow the actions that will demanded. If twenty electric shock rods struck simultaneously, it would exceed Berserga’s tolerance. The mission disc storing combat data would suffer the same fate. All data would be lost.
And my life too–!
Am I to die without even fighting the Black A.T.?
Rage surged through my entire body. Vibrations climbed up from my feet, through the seat. The sensation of the wheel dogs closing in. Thud, thud, thud — their avalanche-like footsteps, like a raging torrent. But more than that, the sound of my own heartbeat was abnormally loud.
The roar of the gliding wheels, which had sounded disjointed, merged into one. Berserga’s frame shook, and shockwaves pierced through it. The machine danced between them. My abdomen slammed hard against the control stick unit.
Sparks flew across the console. Cables snapped on both sides of the cockpit, sparks scattering from their ends. Flashes danced and flickered. The hull began discharging electricity too. The monitor’s display instantly switched to hull check mode. Most of the gauges displayed there flashed erratically and incoherently.
Most functions were dead. The bar graph showing the temperature inside the muscle cylinders vanished somewhere past 100 degrees. The boiling point of the polymer Ringer’s solution had long been exceeded. Right now, Berserga’s frame must be spewing white smoke from its joints due to overheating.
I was overheating too. My entire body was paralyzed. My limbs trembled as if in convulsions. My insides screamed with violent nausea, my spine jerking backward several times in quick succession. Then, a clot of blood spurted from my mouth. The smell of blood filled the cockpit.
Through my hazy vision, the monitor showed the wheel dogs gathered in a circle.
You intend to finish me off…!?
A unified killing intent enveloped me. The cockpit lurched sharply downward to the right. It was accompanied by a sound like rusty hinges grinding. A heavy, dull thud echoed. Berserga buckled under its own weight, its knees giving way.
Suddenly, the circle of wheel dogs that had been coldly observing this scene split apart. Two A.T.s in front of Berserga swiftly retreated.
Chris Kurtz’s pale face was visible ahead. Had the sun already set on the ground? The red light streaming through fiber cables high above, designed to bring external light into the inner layers of the city, had now faded. Only dozens of spotlights mounted on the arena fence illuminated our figures.
In the dim darkness, the Black A.T., its outline white against the shadows, stood out. Chris Kurtz, standing in the cockpit, wore a black and dark purple pressure suit that gave off a strangely harmonious sheen in the spotlight.
He raised his right arm. A wire cord extended from his right arm, tracing a wide arc. The cord connecting his wrist and elbow formed a double semicircle, as if materializing the bio-energy emanating from his body, then stopped.
In the shadowed part, almost melting into the darkness, I sensed something like a smirk. The Black A.T.’s left arm. Its tip reflected the spotlights for an instant, shining white. The iron claw opened and closed as if to crush my throat.
Then, slowly, the Black A.T.’s right arm lifted a heavy machine gun, ensuring not a shred of its stored energy was wasted. A large one — yes, a heavy machine gun with a barrel twice the length of a standard type, bulky and imposing. It stopped dead when it pointed its muzzle at Berserga.
For me, the moment of death was approaching — the umpteenth time, yet the first time with absolute certainty.
The wheel dogs split into two squads, lining up to form a funeral procession. The wire cord extending from Chris Kurtz’s right wrist vibrated sharply, smoking in the darkness.
With a thunderous roar, his heavy machine gun erupted in crimson flames. The line of fire sliced through the darkness — at high speed!! THUD — An uncertain vibration traveled up my right arm. It seemed a bullet had struck somewhere other than the frame. The area around the chamber of the heavy machine gun gripped in Berserga’s right hand was completely gouged out.
The next instant, my heavy machine gun exploded. A flash of light poured in through the cockpit’s air intake, illuminating my blood-stained console in the darkness. The shockwave tore Berserga’s right wrist apart as it exploded. The only piece of armor plate that hadn’t shattered, shaped like the back of its hand, was scorched by the intense heat, charred and splintered.
Did he intend to torture me first, then kill me?
— I understand what you’re saying. Everyone who pursued you deserves a thousand deaths. And that death comes only after being pushed to the absolute limit of terror. Yes, this is your method of execution.
Sha Bak was no exception. Sha Bak was shot repeatedly until not even a corpse was left. In my mind’s eye, a pool of blood — the image of Sha Bak’s remains, barely even a corpse, surfaced.
“Sha Bak…”
The words escaped my lips faintly.
At that moment, resentment seized my entire body. Rage surged through me. Instantly, my numb fingertips stirred slightly.
Can I move…!?
If I could move, there would still be a way to fight. Something overshadowed the fear.
If we can fight, we fear not even death. That’s us Votoms pilots. We’ll stake our lives on even a sliver of hope. But this felt different. Not for fighting, not for living, not driven by resentment. My body was beginning to move for some other purpose.
Slowly but surely, the stiffened right fingertips extended. The entire palm opened. The elbow bent with a creak. All the strength in my body concentrated in my right arm. It instantly scattered.
A bullet fired by the Black A.T. pierced Berserga’s left arm, leaving only the inner armor plate intact. The upper part of the left arm was gouged out. The remaining armor plate was torn off by the weight of the left fist, making a dry sound as it hit the ground.
The muzzle of the Black A.T.’s gun shifted slightly once more. I didn’t care. I brought my newly-freed right arm to my left fist, which remained rigidly clenched. Its fingertips were digging into the palm. I pinched the thumb with the fingertips of my right hand and pried it loose.
Cold — With a dull thud that reverberated to the core of my body, the fingers opened. The fingertips twitched and trembled. A single groan escaped.
At that moment, something exploded before my eyes with a thunderous roar. Then, a vibration traveled from Berserga’s right hip. A bullet had pierced the augmented armor plate mounted on the right knee, and the ricochet shattered the armor plate on the right hip.
Next, the armor plate on the left hip was shot through at its base and clattered to the ground. Part of the hip was gouged away, and murky polymer Ringer’s solution spurted from the exposed muscle cylinder like blood splatter.
I pulled my remaining four fingers open in the same way, then gripped my left wrist tightly and aimed it toward the pilebunker’s operating lever, protruding from the left side of the seat. But this time, the left elbow defied my will. The joint only creaked loudly and refused to extend.
Slowly rotating my still-numb body, I brought my entire left arm close to the lever. I placed my left wrist over the lever’s tip. I bent each finger one by one, wrapping them around it. Then, I tried covering my palm with my right hand. Indeed, my index finger was pressing the unlock button on the lever’s tip. If I pulled it now, the pilebunker would activate.
Already, Berserga had no weapons left besides the pilebunker.
A dull vibration traveled up from the left leg section. The muscle cylinder, having expelled its polymer Ringer’s fluid, had lost its power. With a mournful, grinding metallic sound, the machine’s balance shifted to the left, coming to a halt while maintaining a delicate equilibrium.
A sharp gaze pierced through me. Simultaneously, thousands of dry stares converged on me. The Black A.T.’s heavy machine gun was now aimed at Berserga’s cockpit. The muzzle was locked onto me inside the cockpit.
“Die.”
Chris Kurtz’s heavy voice echoed.
“No…you die.” The words slipped from my mouth. “I still haven’t…repaid my debt to Sha Bak!”
A scream burst from my lips. In that instant, an especially large spark ran across the console panel. A hot sensation welled up from the core of my body. A single word appeared in my mind as an image.
— Destruction —
The machine began to vibrate. I could hear creaking sounds coming from every part of the frame. The cockpit began to move upward. I felt the sensation of legs touching the ground as if they were my own. And then, Berserga stood up, sparks of shorted circuits flashing from every joint. It spread its arms wide, holding the pilebunker parallel to his outstretched left arm.
Yes, Berserga had taken the fighting pose Sha Bak, now deceased, was so fond of. The shock of the electrical charge must have activated Sha Bak’s personal combat program stored within the mission disc. Berserga itself had not forgotten Sha Bak.
“Berserga, destroy him! That bastard!”
The word “destroy,” lingering in my mind, escaped my lips. Within my body, emotions other than resentment began to stir. And yet, it was still half-hearted —
Driven by that emotion, I gripped the control stick with my right hand and slammed my full weight down on the accelerator pedal. The gliding wheels roared beneath me. Berserga’s frame surged forward at high speed toward the Black A.T., accompanied by intense G-forces.
I swung Berserga’s left arm upward. The target was singular: the Black A.T.’s cockpit. But Chris Kurtz made no move to close the cockpit hatch. He stared at me, not even flinching.
I swung the frame sharply left, readying the pilebunker. Neither the Black A.T. nor the others budged. No, they seemed to be waiting, trying to lure me into a devil’s trap.
Three meters left.
I pour every ounce of resentment into my left arm and exerted force. My left shoulder jerked sharply backward. But my arm only extended limply, pivoting at the elbow, refusing to pull the lever.
Two meters left.
The Black A.T. hurled its heavy machine gun aside! Both arms slammed into Berserga’s shoulders. The Machine stopped. The gliding wheels spun uselessly. Not a single step forward.
Ignoring me, helpless and unable to move, Chris Kurtz slowly lowered himself into his seat. Simultaneously, I saw a viscous gel-like liquid ooze out from beside the console. It gradually filled the cockpit. Chris Kurtz donned a helmet with wires extending from its top, then gave it a slight shake to the left. After confirming it was secure, he closed the hatch.
The thick cockpit hatch, resembling a car’s hood, closed on Berserga’s head camera. The monstrous head now looked down on Berserga from about fifty centimeters above. With a hiss, green steam escaped from the exhaust vent installed beside the Black A.T. The vertical sensor on the head changed from black to green.
The Black A.T. swung its left arm high. A fist clenched overhead. It brought down a massive hook-shaped claw — the iron claw — projecting from its upper arm, as if to smash something.
Berserga’s head visor clattered off. The upper part of the peephole, located directly behind the visor, collapsed with a crunch. Wind rushed past my nose as the upper and lower edges of the peephole’s center fused together like welded metal. Glancing over, I saw the iron claw had also carved a large gash into the cockpit hatch.
But now, there was no fear. Only a powerful rage, backed by the vicious, primal scream of destruction welling up from somewhere deep inside. I flung my helmet aside and grabbed the left control stick with my right arm. I pulled myself up using my right elbow, which held the right control stick, as a pivot.
Swiftly, I moved my right hand to the lever. One of the wires, torn loose and dancing on the console, wrapped itself around my right shoulder. Sparks flew at my shoulder joint. Ignoring it, I pulled the lever. My shoulder muscles made a sickening sound, and excruciating pain shot through me.
The Shadow Flare vanished from my pain-warped vision. The pilebunker, thrust forward with lightning speed, sliced through the air in vain. But the Black A.T. took a step back. Slightly, but it was startled.
A murmur rose from the audience. To the spectators, the Black A.T. was power incarnate, clad in steel armor, a guarantee of unshakable victory. The Shadow Flare, said to appear only in real battle, and against whom no one had ever lasted more than ten minutes. He was the very symbol of invincibility. And now, I had struck a blow against that iron-walled, unshakable dignity.
A huge roar erupted from the stands.
— Kill him!
— Smash the Blue Knight to death!
Hearing the shouts echoing in the cockpit, I turned Berserga around. With clumsy movements, it turned toward the Black A.T.
The Black A.T. began walking toward me. I tried to return my right arm to the control stick. But it wouldn’t move. Only excruciating pain surged up from my shoulder. Following my left arm, my right arm was dead too. I bit down on the stick and pushed it with my jaw. What was driving me this far? I didn’t know. But there was definitely a burning desire for revenge.
The metal strut dug into the flesh of my jaw. The base of the bone creaked and groaned, my jaw slipping slickly. Flesh snapped, blood seemed to flow out. Blood seeped from my gums, and the metallic stench exploded in my mouth again and again.
Kill him —
Destroy him —
As the two thoughts clashed, I forced the control stick forward. Berserga’s body slowly began to move.
The Black A.T. opened its gliding wheels fully and charged forward. It closed in.
I threw my upper body over the pilebunker’s lever, wrapping myself around it as I pulled. My vision darkened, and a vibration shot through my spine from top to bottom. There was resistance. My pilebunker had finally pierced its hull.
I felt the victory. But when I straightened my back and peered through the peephole, I was stunned. The tip of the pilebunker, which should have achieved a direct hit, was broken off. Shadow Flare’s body was scarred, oozing that gel-like fluid, but it hadn’t suffered a fatal wound.
A sigh of disappointment escaped my lips.
A roar erupted as a gale swept up from my feet. The lower half of the cockpit hatch was torn away. The iron claw had ripped it off. Berserga buckled to its knees. The screech of gliding wheels echoed from the exposed ground. Wheel dogs nearby aimed their guns at Berserga.
How am I supposed to handle this with a broken blade and no arrows left — !?
I didn’t want to say it aloud, but a crushing sense of defeat gripped my entire body. Yet, a part of my mind kept screaming with the urge to destroy. It was a desire for destruction beyond mere killing intent. That alone kept my eyes fixed on the Black A.T. ahead.
The Black A.T. raised its heavy machine gun. A heavy silence hung around me. The spectators in the stands began singing a funeral march in unison. The Black A.T.’s fingertips began to squeeze the trigger with a grinding sound.
Then it happened. A faint flash streaked across the arena sky. Dust rained down like hail from 500 meters above. It wasn’t the city’s structural framework collapsing. Part of the canopy had caved in. Judging by the fine, ash-like dust falling, it seemed the military had used a high-precision demolition bomb. And deliberately — !
The wheel dogs stirred. Confident I couldn’t move, they aimed their heavy machine guns skyward. Instantly, the wheel dog on the right was crushed as if struck by a blunt weapon from above, exploding. Then the A.T. on the left met the same fate and exploded. The smoke carried a faint scent of rusted iron.
The Black A.T. retreated toward the rear passageway. Pursue it, the destructive urge screamed deep within my mind. But my body refused to react swiftly.
The heavy turbo fan of a thruster jet whirred, its sound drowned out by a deafening roar. The whine of a helicopter rotor. A large transport helicopter was descending toward the arena. Then, five A.T.s descended, encircling the helicopter. A.T.s with three independent scope lenses as their heads, covered in armor plates — Rising Tortoises.
They were the A.T.s led by the wandering showman — no, Gilgamesh Army Intelligence Lieutenant Colonel Mima Sencutter.
They descended with their lower-mounted thrusters at full throttle. The nozzles spewed white glowing jets of flame. This equipment was clearly different from the conventional A.T. levitation units, the “Buckets.” Thrusters were independently mounted on each of the A.T.’s legs.
— Why are they here?
But there was no time to ask. The Black A.T. vanished from view. I clung to the control stick.
Meanwhile, the wheel dogs opened fire toward the sky. Fire streaked from their muzzles with a roar. But the Rising Tortoises dodged the approaching bullets left and right with a clatter, spewing red burner flames from their thrusters. They possessed a high mobility a conventional bucket lacked.
Dodging bullets while descending, a Rising Tortoise fired the large gun held in its arm. A white-hot beam extended, and with a tremendous shock, a wheel dog was crushed and explodes. It was a solid shooter. Rising Tortoises used that large weapon, which fired projectiles via electromagnetic induction.
It fired the solid shooter into the audience seats. The projectile shattered the spotlight’s glass face, scattering fragments. Darkness instantly engulfed the arena. The only light source was the faint twilight filtering through the blast hole in the canopy.
The audience seats become a hellish scene of pandemonium. Spectators screamed and shouted, frantically leaping out onto the floor amidst the flickering flashes of light like auroras. The chairman leaped from the owners’ seats, microphone in hand, shouting to calm the crowd. But his voice was drowned out by the helicopter’s roar, reaching no ears. Suddenly, the chairman sprinted straight toward me.
“You bastard—-”
The chairman aimed his gun at me. A Type 24 atomic magnum. He screamed and wailed like a madman.
“This venue is finished, too! You took everything from me — my position, my reputation, my money! It’s all because you appeared in this city!”
Power surged into the chairman’s fingertips. Suddenly, his head exploded. Fragments burned away in an instant. A solid shooter fired by a Rising Tortoise had struck its mark. The Tortoise that launched that projectile descended behind me.
“Are you alive, you bast–”
The pilot’s voice came over the comm. He was peering into Berserga’s head.
“Awful…but you’re still alive,” I heard the pilot mutter.
But my gaze remained fixed on the Black A.T. standing motionless beside the passageway.
One after another, Rising Tortoises landed within my field of vision. The wheel dogs had exploded without a trace, vanished. The moment it touched down, a Rising Tortoise’s shin armor plate opened downward. At its tip sat a wheel about 12 inches in diameter. Auxiliary wheels, perhaps…
No, that wasn’t all. Jet nozzles protruded from the rear of the shin. Red flames erupted amidst the shimmering heat haze. Instantly, the Rising Tortoise began charging like an arrow toward the Black A.T.
“Wait…I’ll take that one…”
I shifted my weight onto the control stick and issued the activation command to Berserga. Using the shield on its left arm for support, Berserga rose, billowing white smoke from its entire body. At that moment, a short-wavelength shockwave rippled through the cockpit. An anchor fired from the large transport helicopter had driven itself into Berserga’s hatch.
The raspy voice of Nail Covarn, the Second Tier matchmaker, came through the communicator. “Don’t run, Kain.”
“Why are you here?” I asked in a hoarse voice.
“That can wait. Escape now.”
Following Covarn’s voice, Mima’s voice came through. “That’s right, Blue Knight. Just knowing he’s in this city is enough for now.”
“He’s my prey. I’ll handle him.”
Was it witnessing the Rising Tortoise’s shocking power? Or the destructive impulse fueled by purpose? Though certain of defeat, I still tried to force my barely functioning body to fight.
The Rising Tortoises closed to within twenty meters. As if waiting for this moment, the Black A.T.’s head sensor shifted from green to red. It glowed sharply.
With a beast-like roar, the Black A.T.’s body moved at high speed. Steel ground was scraped away beneath its feet. A solid shooter projectile fired by a Rising Tortoise slammed into the top of the body! But it was deflected, leaving only ripples of light on the surface. It held its left arm at its side. Where it touched the screen, a 20cm thick steel plate shattered as if caught in a blender, sending a cloak of dust flying behind the thing as it sped along at high speed.
The Black A.T. closed in on the closest Rising Tortoise with the swiftness of a carnivore. Its iron claw swung down, leaving a crescent arc of light. Suddenly, the Rising Tortoise froze. The edge of the light arc ripped the machine from top to bottom, crushing it. The pilot’s body was flung between the two iron masses. Then, explosion! Flames swirled around the Black A.T., enveloping it.
Seizing the opening, another A.T. burst out from beside the passenger seats. It was a Fatty, a Balarant A.T. with a spherical design, painted black and yellow.
“Kain, get out of here!” shrieked the Fatty’s female pilot, Ronni.
Fatty hooked both arms around Berserga’s back, firing the thruster nozzles to ascend. Still holding Berserga, she entered the large, wide-open container of the helicopter above. Simultaneously, the sound of wire rattling and coiling echoed. A winch was hauling Berserga up.
Somehow, the incessant buzzing of the destruction bug in my head had fallen silent. I held my breath, staring at the receding Black A.T. It was searching for its next target amidst the raging flames.
“We’re getting out of here!” Mima’s shout rang out.
But it was already too late. The Black A.T., still engulfed in flames, leveled its gun horizontally at waist height and opened fire. First, it struck one end of the fence. The impact reduced everything within a five-meter radius to dust. Next, a Rising Tortoise exploded. The word “exploded” was truly fitting. The moment it hit, the unit vanished. Just as the adjacent unit disappeared, scattered limbs flew outward from within.
In the blink of an eye, four Rising Tortoises, once boasting such high performance, vanished without a trace.
“Aaah—”Mima’s wordless cry echoed.
Drowning out that sound, the rotor’s roar intensified as the large helicopter began its ascent. Bullets fired by the Black A.T. danced through the darkness, leaving trails of light. We weaved through them, passing through the hole in the canopy and continuing our climb.
It was quiet now. Inside the cockpit, where the sensation of ascent was palpable, a question suddenly crossed my mind.
— What was that destructive impulse that had writhed inside me during the battle?
Berserga gave no answer. The lights on the instruments had also gone out. Berserga’s cockpit enveloped me in darkness. Suddenly, transformed into a raw bundle of sensory nerves, I felt a shudder near my right shoulder. A sharp object was being forced into the seam of the cockpit hatch. It was the tip of a jack, resembling a bird’s beak. It bent slightly, splitting open vertically. The eerie sound of gears grinding together echoed.
Before my eyes, the hatch slowly opened. Beyond it stood two figures. Nail Covarn and Ronni Shatrait.
“This is…awful…”
Covarn let out a sound that was almost a groan.
“You okay, Kain?”
I spoke, forcing each word out as I relaxed my mouth. “Still…alive. Where is this helicopter headed?”
Covarn’s wrinkled mouth stretched into a grin. “Still up for it? With him?”
“I said…I’m still alive.”
Yes. In a real battle fought with guns, victory is decided by death. Even if my limbs were torn off, as long as my heart was still beating, the fight against him continued.
“You still intend to fight him!” Ronni shouted. “You don’t stand a chance against a bastard like that, Kain. For your own good, give it up! Or did the shock of losing drive you mad!?”
“Cut it out, Ronni.” Covarn raised a hand to silence Ronni, who was yelling with raised eyebrows.
“Why!?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Covarn turned his back to Ronni. He was small, but enough to hide Ronni from my view.
“That’s stupid! Kain lost! He was almost killed!”
“And the reason for that is you. If you hadn’t interfered with your senseless meddling, Kain would surely…”
“But—”
Over Covarn’s thin cloaked shoulder, I could see Ronni’s tightly clenched fist trembling slightly as she lowered it.
“She’s just stubborn. Still trying to fight recklessly, isn’t she? Utterly foolish. You can’t survive in this world like that.”
“Is that so?”
Covarn brushed it off lightly, then slowly turned back toward Ronni.
“Kain knows better than anyone he lost — but men sing in hell. Look into Kain’s eyes. No matter how badly his body is wounded, those aren’t the eyes of a defeated man. He’s just showing his true will.”
“I don’t get it.”
“If he just kept losing, he’d be nothing but trash. Victory is the beginning of defeat, defeat is the beginning of victory. But Kain isn’t just a loser now. Something inside him…something terrifying is beginning to stir.”
“Is… that so?” Ronni peered out from behind Covarn’s shoulder, looking on warily.
“Yes. It’s not a hunch. After years in this world, you develop an eye for men like this.” With that, Covarn turned back and held out his hand. “Kain, get out of the Berserga. We’re abandoning this helicopter and going down one level.”
“Your…weren’t you supposed to be the second level?” I said this as I crawled out of Berserga, its front cockpit scraping the floor, my back bent like a caterpillar.
Ronni rushed over. “Kain, use my shoulder.”
“Move…”
I leaned my shoulder against the container wall and staggered to my feet. Leaning my full weight against the wall, I looked out the window with its thick glass pane.
Heat haze stood still. We were ascending through the hollow cavity running vertically through the center of the layered city Arg, above the central lava pool. Gazing down through the window glass, the steel plate of the second-layer canopy’s underside descended. The darkness swallowed the structural steel beams, assembled from H-beams, between the gleaming steel plates.
Then, the helicopter leveled off at the lower edge of the canopy, halting its ascent and transitioning to hover.
“Get into the jeep, quick!”
The hatch at the container’s edge opened, and Mima, looking as nervous as ever, dashed out. Despite losing his team’s A.T., he showed no sign of being flustered.
“It will start ascending again in one minute. Hurry!”
As soon as he said that, Mima stood at my right side, using his hip to support me and lift my body slightly.
“Let’s consider this settling the debt for the four thousand gildan.” Mima chuckled lightly.
“What are you planning to do with this helicopter?”
“Use it as bait to get us out of the city. It’ll make our next move easier.”
Still supporting me, Mima staggered over to the Berserga transport jeep in front of the container. He tossed me into the passenger seat and sat in the driver’s seat himself. He fumbled under the console and started the engine. Meanwhile, Ronni, who had climbed into the Fatty, secured Berserga to the jeep’s rear.
“We’re ready to go!” Covarn shouted as he opened the container hatch.
“Hold on to the seat!” Mima yelled, then started the jeep. He tilted the vehicle so hard the right suspension bottomed out completely, and the jeep began moving.
After a 90-degree turn, the jeep began heading straight for the container hatch. Near the hatch, the body groaned momentarily. Covarn had leaped aboard. Clearing a slight gap, the jeep burst onto the surface of the first layer.
With a rumble that shook us to the core, the helicopter began ascending. Fatty jumped from the hatch as it rose, firing its vernier thrusters to land. The helicopter continued its straight-as-an-arrow ascent. But just as it approached the canopy of the first layer, a gaping maw suddenly began closing with a heavy, rumbling thud.
The rotor tips collided and were deflected. The next instant, they snapped off at the root. The nose dipped sharply. Simultaneously, the tail section slammed into the canopy. The helicopter snapped clean in two, spewing black smoke as it began its descent, exploding and bursting into flames as its outer panels were torn away.
And then we learned that martial law had been imposed on the city of Arg by the military police…
To be continued